


Morning After

by creepy_shetan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Community: comment_fic, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:38:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1743350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creepy_shetan/pseuds/creepy_shetan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and the worst hangover of his life. Suffice to say, he'll never play drinking games <i>against</i> Loki again.</p><p>(Originally posted 2012/8/26 as a fill for a prompt.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning After

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tigriswolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/gifts).



Clint couldn't tell if the pounding originated from a fist on his door or his brain inside his skull. Wherever it was coming from, it sure as hell woke him up and refused to be ignored.

He blindly grabbed the first steady thing his fingers could find and _pulled_. Turned out it was indeed tangible but unfortunately not as anchored as he'd hoped. Clint gave himself a moment to swallow down his guts and reacquaint himself with the floor now half beneath him. He closed his eyes for a long moment, sighing heavily through his nose.

"Good. You didn't catch a cold after all," came a quietly bored and lightly teasing voice from somewhere above.

If Clint were on his game, he'd have a prince's head on a stick by now. However, considering he was the most hungover he could _ever_ remember being in his life (that included celebratory outings with Tasha, Stark, _and_ Thor, and was aided by the fact that he never once blacked out), Clint was just thankful he didn't nauseate himself any further by dropping his remaining appendages off the couch and carefully arranging himself into a sitting position as he scowled up at the now-visible face of Loki.

Clint opened his mouth to reply, then promptly shut it, eyes taking in his surroundings.

"I took those off," he pointed to a messy heap of damp clothes on the floor nearby with his eyes, not ready to utilize other muscles just yet, "right?"

Loki shrugged, his own eyes dark with wicked mirth. A similar but smaller pile of clothing rested on a chair; Loki had apparently opted to ruin a tailored dress shirt by sleeping in it. The pants to his suit didn't appear to be on the chair, either. Clint wanted to find some relief in that, but his head hurt too much to care.

"I may have provided assistance," he eventually said in an offhanded tone as he shifted his green-clad torso so that he was no longer leaning on an elbow, instead gazing down from a somewhat higher vantage point. Clint mentally noted that his legs were clad in rich black and razor-thin white pinstripes. "You did most of the work on your own," he added. Loki might as well have said, _Bravo. You're not completely inept at simple tasks while intoxicated._

Cursed with gradually-returning knowledge of every moment of his drunken misadventures, Clint knew better than to argue with that answer, however vague and smug it was. Besides, he was already starting to piece together the finer details on his own, and _that_ was far worse than anything Loki could say or do at this point.

Well, in theory.

Clint supposed that, if he were looking down at a miserable mess of a mortal from a lazy sprawl across said mortal's comfortable couch without any indication of the previous night's events having a negative effect on himself, then sure, he'd be laughing his ass off, too. Clint was just as responsible, and yet he couldn't help feeling that Loki was more to blame.

The relative amount of skin each man currently had exposed may have been a contributing factor to their roles in this situation as well. Clint was suddenly thankful that he had carpeted floors. He was also well aware that Loki had control of half of the thin sheet tangled around Clint and all of the warm blanket no longer covering him whatsoever. Clint's frown deepened as Loki winked with a smirk, one pale hand absently playing with his side of the sheet, the softly faded fabric rolling between his fingers.

"Just get it over with. I know you wanna. Or show some decency by restoring some of mine."

Clint cringed at the sound of his own voice this time. Somehow, it was getting raspier and starting to crack. The numbness in his tongue did little to alleviate the godawful taste in his mouth. His limbs must have been a bit numb as well; he tried to move different joints experimentally, but some were completely unresponsive while the rest were sluggish at best. Clint hoped he looked as awful as he felt. He doubted he could get away with using the guilt card on Loki (who was the master of evoking guilty consciences across more than one dimension), thus Clint tried for pity instead. He wasn't above playing the pity card when there was a chance of getting something out of it. Warmth was at the top of that list, especially since the parts of his body that weren't numb were beginning to shiver.

Loki avidly watched every move Clint made, however minute, as he made a show of pondering what to do, what to do.

It was obvious now that Clint's physical and mental condition was so distracting that he found it difficult to focus on Loki with even remotely the same intensity. He'd undergone various forms of torture before, but nothing like this.

Without clarity, discomfort made Clint impatient, and in extreme cases (like now) it led to him being just south of pouty. It was unbecoming and embarrassing, and Clint had very little to be embarrassed about -- for fuck's sake, he was practically naked at the foot of an alien prince with a god complex, and yet he _still_ felt he had some dignity. It was only when adding the mother of all hangovers to the mix that Clint really wouldn't mind if he died here and now, with or without a shred of that dignity intact.

"Dude, what do you want from me right now? If it's not 'eat pizza and watch the Olympics' then I'm afraid I can't help you," spilled out of Clint's mouth without his consent, every word sounding weary and defeated. "Either give me a day to recover or put me out of my misery, goddam--"

Suddenly, the alien prince pounced -- quite literally. Clint thought he might throw up after all as he felt a weight tackle him back down to the floor; but then, just as abruptly, the churning in his stomach and the pounding in his head faded away to the background. A moment too late, he realized the fuzzy taste in his mouth had been replaced by a clean minty tingle. Loki pulled back enough to meet his gaze. Clint became conscious of slender fingers in his hair, one of those pale hands cradling the back of his skull, protecting it from what would have been a painful blow.

Clint was by no means cured, but _holy shit_. Damn Asgardians. No wonder Loki had looked so damn perky -- his alcohol tolerance level had to be a hundred times higher than Cap's, at the very least. Clint knew Thor could drink any (normal) human under a table, but having the (magical?) ability to help lessen others' suffering _must_ give Loki the edge.

Clint stared, gaze unconsciously locked onto dark pink lips before drifting upwards to bright green eyes. His ability to focus on Loki's otherwise pale face had returned. "What... What exactly did you just do?"

"What I wanted, like you said," came the swift reply. Loki had no reason to make Clint squirm anymore, apparently -- at least, not in the same manner as before. He gently nuzzled the archer's cheek, then his neck, the skin growing warm wherever he touched. "I dare say you're no longer miserable, although you're hardly _decent_..."

Fidgeting at the turn in events, Clint stammered, "Uh, no, I-I mean--"

"--I absorbed some of your side effects and administered a couple of breath mints. Simple."

"Hold on a sec," Clint guided Loki's face back to where he could look the prince in the eye, unsure whether to raise or narrow his brows. "Doesn't that imply that you could absorb _all of my side effects?_ "

A short nod. "Astute inference."

Clint nearly choked on the remainder of a mint as a direct result of Loki's expression just then. Loki took that as a signal to continue his ministrations, although now his hands were just as involved as his mouth. Clint was so preoccupied that he didn't even notice that he was no longer cold nor numb; the combination of thin sheet, warm blanket, and alien body had worked wonders for him. Clint's mind still wasn't at ease, however.

"Hey, wait wait _wait_ ," Clint paused to swallow thickly. With the mints gone, his mouth was getting dry again. "Why bother?"

Loki stopped unbuttoning his wrinkled mess of a shirt and rolled his eyes. "Last night, we played a game. I won. You owe me. Like I said: simple."

Clint could feel his face drain of color at the sudden stab of a memory. "I have no recollection of that."

Loki gave Clint a pointed look, his hands slowly finishing their work. "Yes you do."

Before slipping the green fabric off his shoulders, the prince pinned the archer down -- figuratively, then literally for good measure. "Unfortunately for you, I have no reason to speed up your recovery _completely_. You need some reminder, or else how will you ever learn?"

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt: Avengers movieverse, Loki/Clint or Clint + Loki, “Dude, what do you want from me right now? If it’s not ‘eat pizza and watch the Olympics’ then I’m afraid I can’t help you.”  
> The theme: Hungover Owls (specifically, [this](http://hungoverowls.tumblr.com/post/28270016300/dude-what-do-you-want-from-me-right-now-if-its) post)  
> Originally posted [here](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/363250.html?thread=63474162#t63474162).  
> I only own the writing.


End file.
